


Houses of cards

by lilacaisle



Series: My heart is a boat sinking in your oceans [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bruce needs love, Emotions, Grief/Mourning, Jeremiah might be creepy, Kissing, Late at Night, Love, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 11:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18659308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacaisle/pseuds/lilacaisle
Summary: “We didn’t cherish it enough, Bruce. But can you be so atrocious? So barbaric towards our visions? Our future? We can build a fortress, houses of cards is the past.”Two lovebirds get back to chant for each other for perhaps the last time.





	Houses of cards

The horizon glistens with the last blinding ray of sun, once peach blushed sky painting itself a jet black. Crescent falcate moon dances amongst the plushy wool clouds, every now and then showing its beautiful curve and vanishing back into the hazy sphere as if to mock Bruce. He has no alternatives, after all, than to keep assessing his surroundings. The soughing of horse chestnut trees is beginning to scratch at his nerves and drive the boy hysteric. It is almost clear now that Jeremiah is ridiculing him, most likely peeking from behind the tenement with a sly smile, simpering at the sight of Bruce slowly going insane at his show of inadequate unpunctuality. Not to mention how hazardous these poor dirty districts are for the Wayne boy.  
What stroller would not like to open a vein on his neck just to snoop into his coat pocket for a treasure? Luckily, a blanket of thick mist is keeping Bruce in suspense for the inquisitive eyes of these poor wretched locals. If... there are any at all.

The silence becomes concerning the longer Bruce waits. It feels as if the ground at his feet exists no more and his consciousness is soon about to abandon the hazy mind. In such a sluggish half asleep state there is no way he can fight Jeremiah if needed, or perhaps it is his intention to weaken his opponent to the point of submission, where Jeremiah’s maws will look appealing and he’ll arch into anything that will be suggested to him, even a fatal proposal? Of course, Bruce thinks. He allows himself to be played by Jeremiah’s slick hands, they are holding his strings and masterly pull each whenever he needs Bruce to bow at his evil schemes. Now he is just a mere part of the madman’s puzzle, a jigsaw piece which Jeremiah will fiddle around however he wishes. But how could his young, thudding with all kinds of sentimental feelings heart ever deny? What is underneath that serene plastic act is Bruce’s one and only Jeremiah. The pure like crystal glass boy in a fawn tartan suit, emanating the sweet honeysuckles fragrance of his chanel perfume that has now been replaced with the odour of gunpowder and copper. Bruce can even recall his hand cream, yes! The man’s lean, almost feminine elastic hands, velvety skin. Flawlessly manicured nails that used to drum at his thigh with anxiety now only beg for a place on Bruce’s throat. Fingers that now soak with blood of the innocent.

Soft breeze whiffs softly, tangling his cocoa curls in the air. It is getting to the point of pointlessness. Bruce’s vision is beginning to resist its function and drag him into a pit of oblivion where in his dreams, perhaps his chestnut haired prince will meet him once more. But then, something shifts in the atmosphere. As if the texture of oxygen had changed, a thick layer of fog becomes impossible for Bruce’s lungs consume. His torturous intuition warned him of another presence, another... hand. The sudden touch summoned a flinch from the boy, it was his poor shoulder to suffer the anguish of those gloved hands not being the ones he relived earlier. But it was, indeed, the same man who owned it.

“The display of your patience, Bruce… Is priceless.” The tranquil tone, heavy like an ocean wave, scoured the boy’s mind from anything that could have ever existed there. He locks his fingers on the edge of the bench, scrapping the wood with his fingernails to relieve the tension. He knows Jeremiah has been observing and still is, his intent gaze is blazing through Bruce’s skull and carving his initials there.

“Jeremiah. Punctual as always.” Bruce sneers mockingly in a way that was a little bit childish, but more cunning than an open exhibition of all the sentiments boiling in his blood right now.

An enthralling laugh shakes Bruce’s bones and sweet gracious, it wasn’t even his own.

“Yes, my bad. I doused in your elegant show of hesitance. Did you know, I was right behind? It never occurred to you to just turn your little worried head and see if no one is spying?” Jeremiah sings in that same disturbingly placid note and finally turns his heels to circle the bench and reveal himself to the boy’s eyes. My my, these fancy attires. The man’s slender body shape was well complimented by the narrow cut skinny suit. The jacket appeared jet black, but Bruce didn’t trust this dim illumination and replaced the thought with a royal sapphire blue. Long classic pants fit Jeremiah’s slim legs and met the shiny saddle shoes only at the very bottom, where a dark tinge of crimson red and black contrasted beautifully and gave a feeling of playfulness to the look. Leather gloves adorned Jeremiah’s hands, tight and strict with their lining. What a dandy fop.

Bruce gives the man a distrustful glance, quick and almost unwanted.

“It did, but I was afraid to see a well-tailored, gloved demon.” Bruce squirms in his seat and throws Jeremiah a displeased glance when he alters his stance and clicks his tongue at Bruce’s remark. In gracious movements his legs carry him towards the boy, he positions himself by his side and settles one leg on the other, folding his hands on the pointy knee joint.

Jeremiah’s pearls find Bruce’s emerald eyes and plant their intent stare there. Feathery eyelashes flutter once... twice... and Jeremiah melts into an ardent beau. If it wasn’t for the poor choice of location and unsuitable setting, Jeremiah would be making passionate love to Bruce amongst crimson sheets, sipping his claret from the boiling hot vein that his teeth would open gently as just not to stain the pureness this angelic being possesses.

“Bruce. My sun and moon, you are mourning for the old me still. I know you shed your crystal tears, I’ve heard your night-long laments. You call me cruel, but plunge the knife of your grief and sorrow into my own heart every time I look you in the eye.” Jeremiah hisses with that silver tongue curling into a tube as if to imitate how agonising his fate is.

Bruce’s eyes glisten with lust. This sweetheart. What will he leave of Bruce, if he opens his fragile heart to him? Shatters? Once he used to confide in those eyes, fall asleep to the hum of Jeremiah’s hands in his cocoa locks while resting on his never rising chest. It can’t be so, that their fate is so vile.

“Our love was like a house of cards, Jeremiah. Feeble and admirable, but unstable and would have collapsed at any given moment.”

Jeremiah’s slowly begin reflecting Bruce’s. Melancholic wistful glare with a craving for eternal peace.

“We didn’t cherish it enough, Bruce. But can you be so atrocious? So barbaric towards our visions? Our future? We can build a fortress, houses of cards are in the past.”

A crow begins cawing irritatingly above the both’s heads. A chorus sings with Bruce’s pounding heart as if it were strained vocal cords, serenading turmoil and human woe. It all stepped destructively over what he’s been taught. The silver eloquence tongue of this wily man was not to be trusted so easily. Though it flowed so easily into his head, with such ease and lightness of the moon itself. Perhaps it was what sent Bruce over the edge, prodded his heart with the luscious memories only to make him lean into the familiar sensations of plushy lips enfolding his own, space dust seeping into Bruce’s mouth and mixing with his basic human saliva. Was it what Jeremiah lusted for? What his abyss covets, is it Bruce’s vitality? Or perhaps what the daggers now playing his tongue into submission, blood?

Bruce cleaves their kiss.

“Jeremiah... If I allowed you, would you still tear my veins like you used to?” He purrs innocently in his chaste tone, fingers slipping into the other man’s hair.

Jeremiah grins mischievously. That would have been a perfect answer if not for the eyebrow Bruce quirks at Jeremiah’s honest grimace.

“Bruce, don’t overdramatise. I’ve never torn your pretty skin. The way I remember it, you would varnish my shoulder blades in crimson. Like the warrior that you are, never letting me reward you properly.”

Those words disturb the tranquil waters of Bruce’s seas. He wishes he could deny Jeremiah’s words, craves for justice. But the balmy colour of the man’s tone rips out Bruce’s control and his head flies back in allowance, or to be precise, pure desire, to be explored. Perhaps somewhere in the sandy murky bottom of that sea, was hidden a yearning for Jeremiah’s teeth to send his soul ablaze once more. To taste the menace on the tip of his tongue, God knows there is only one man on earth with an ability to do such a thing.

Jeremiah somehow magically teleports by Bruce’s neck, where bundle of vessels chant to him softly.

 _*A hand on my back,_  
_With a need creeping up,_  
_I’ll unveil you my veins,_  
_So that you can obtain._

“And here goes our house of cards, moon boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to leave it up to my dearest readers to conclude this short story. Whether Bruce lets Jeremiah thrive and allows himself to be left again, or maybe the birds now sing to one song and Bruce becomes one like Jeremiah? All up to you < 3 Any feedback is welcome and has a special place in my heart uwu


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